Pikmin: The South
by Great Thumbs of Wisdom
Summary: The origin of Celltic, "Pikmin:" series. Deep in the rainforests of the Far South, an ancient abomination stirs. In the jungles of Magnar, a war erupts that will irreversibly change the course of history. Can the green pikmin stop the Ant Hordes?
1. Southwatch

Rain.

Rain dominated the Southland. Its sweltering jungles and stinking swamps were doused with it almost daily, serving to swell the rivers and streams that cut through it like veins. In the Far South, the rainforests were choked with rainwater that swirled and stagnated, leaving peat marshes and serving to turn the rainforests into ever greater mazes of confusion and chaos. Rain permeated into everything; culture, daily routines, hunting, even war. It was the Southland's life blood.

Today the rain was pouring down in buckets. The many colors of pikmin that inhabitated the Near South found their jungles and marshes drowning in water. At times like this they would retreat into their villages and their dry huts, where they could find comforting fires and good food. Most pikmin would not set foot outside on a day like this, until the rain had at least stopped coming down.

But not Celltic. He found that the best hunting was when the creatures of the jungle came out to bask in the rain, knowing that they would be relatively safe from hunters. There were drawbacks of course; he could not use his bow in the rain, for it hampered the sinew string and ruined accuracy. His senses were dulled as well, but Celltic took no notice of this, for he loved a challenge. And besides that, he found the steady rain relaxing, almost pleasurable.

The young green pikmin was prowling now, his camaflouged jungle cloak protecting him from the weather. Water streamed over his face like a refreshing bath, pouring down the rainproofed fabric of his hood. He carried a bundle of spears over his left shoulder, not tipped but fire hardened, and another in his hand ready to throw. He was ascending higher into the jungle, up what had once been a cliff face in some forgotten age, but was now a tangled mess of rain-slicked rocks and scattered patches of foliage. Here Celltic hunted Switherbugs for their meat, a task that required speed, cunning and strength, something which he possessed in abundance, or so he at least liked to think.

There was less foliage to keep the rain away now, and it was driving down hard into Celltic's face. He brought his stem down and let his bud divert the falling water. Steadily he climbed, hopping deftly from rock to rock, wary of falling but relaxed at the same time. His bare feet went slap slap as he went, moving from one patch of trees to another until they thinned out almost entirely. Celltic was very high up now, several hundred feet off the jungle floor. Still, the trees of the jungle stretched more than a hundred feet into the air in most places, and were very thick.

Quite suddenly, Celltic came across a pile of boulder and a short cliff. He changed his course and scrambled up onto a slick boulder, then tossed his bundle of spears onto the ledges over his head. After that it was easy enough to grip the vines that grew thick here, and pull himself up the cliff.

Shouldering his spears, Celltic looked around. The rain was slowing rapidly, and after a few minutes it became a lazy sprinkle. Visibility increased exponentially until Celltic could see for miles around. He continued to move up after that, until he came to what appeared to be a giant mouth in the Southland mountain.

The mouth of the mountain was huge, stretching nearly fifty feet up into the air. Tumbled down pillars of rock lay strewn and scattered between large slabs of stone and low walls. An ancient wall, tipped here and there by battlements that had been worn by time until they were round and smooth, stood before Celltic as if it were guarding the entrance to the mouth of the cave systems. It almost appeared like they were teeth, old and useless in the mouth of an ancient monster, but ready to bite and destroy nonetheless. Above the cavernous mouth the mountain continued, covered in twisted plant life and gnarled trees.

Without hesitating or hurrying, Celltic pulled himself through a low spot in the four foot wall. He knew what it was; he had visited here often. It was Southwatch, where centuries ago Samovar the Great had built his fortress. The climb to the top had been much steeper then, as the path Celltic had taken was a sheer cliff in those days and the stronghold was accessible only by hidden footpaths and secret entrances from behind. Samovar had used this fortress as a base from which to launch attacks on the black pikmin, to drive them out of the South. It had been taken in a great battle, one in which the black pikmin attacked from without with their armies, and from within with their underground monsters. But that was too long ago to matter anymore, and even the ghosts were long gone.

The first cavern was badly lit, its entrance long ago smashed. A large split in the rock marked where Samovar had once built his doors, only half of which remained opened. Up above, Celltic could still see where the defenders of Southwatch had honeycombed the rock of the surrounding cliffs, creating boltholes and small rooms from which to fight back against their enemies. Most of the entrances were gone, others sealed off, and many were overgrown with hanging vines and hunched trees. The few that remained appeared to be dead eyes that glared out at the Southland, but most of these were too small to enter.

Celltic regarded the mouth of the caves with unease. He had been here many times before, even venturing into the caves once or twice, but something told him that all was not right. He knew the stories; of pikmin going in and never coming back out, of luckier explorers who claimed to hear things moving in the dark and of finding gnawed bones piled here and there. Of course, he didn't believe most of them. It was easy to get lost in the caves and even easier to stay lost. The greens who went in and died probably just starved. Everybody knew that the Insectoids created by the black pikmin had died with their masters.

Still, something didn't seem quite right. The wind whispered in the mouth of the caves as if in warning. Celltic approached nevertheless, selecting a spear from his bundle of six and gripping it readily. A haunting moan emanated from the cliffs around him; just the wind, but it spooked him nonetheless.

Carefully, slowly, Celltic eased himself into the entrance, until he was half in and half out of the shadow. The wind circulated in the large cavern before him, almost howling now as if to tell him to leave now and never come back. He continued forward.

A few cautious steps forward later, his throwing arm cocked back in the ready position, Celltic found himself in the center of the cavernous room. It was marked by two large stalagmite pillars, both of which stretched up and into the darkness, presumably to the ceiling. As he stood there, Celltic could hear the incessant sound of dripping water somewhere up above; the stalagmites were wet to the touch.

There were three large corridors on the far side of the cavernous room, and two smaller ones on either side. One of the larger corridors, the one on the far left, was mostly collapsed with only a small portion near the top. It was accessible only by a climb over age-old rubble slippery with "rock sweat". The room itself was humid, and several large clusters of crystals grew deeper back in the middle corridor. The wind continued to howl. But there was nothing in here; other than the wind it was completely silence. Dead.

Celltic relaxed.

Suddenly, something moved in the far left corridor, in the small, jagged entrance atop the rubble pile. Several small rocks skittered to the bottom, clicking against the moist stone before clattering noisely into a puddle of water. Celltic jumped, drawing his arm back to throw his spear, but the thing was already gone. Swallowing, he dashed after it, replacing his spear in the bundle over his shoulder and using his right hand to climb. When he came to the top his legs and the palm of his hand were slimy.

Celltic had to crouch to enter the corridor. He hesitated for only a moment, hastily wiping his hand clean of the slimy moisture and gripping one of his spears. The hardened wooden point held in front of him, the young budling slid through the entrance, and found himself in complete darkness. He paused again, this time to allow his eyes to adjust to the inky blackness; it was darker than the deepest rainforests of the Far South, darker even than a Switherbug breeding pit at midnight. He advanced slowly this time, gripping his spear tightly. Whatever was in these caves, it wasn't catching him off guard.

After a short descent down the smoothed rubble, Celltic dropped into a puddle of icy water that rose all the way to the middle of his shins. He would have to be careful from here on out; he was barefoot, as green pikmin invariably were, and this corridor was a maze of stalagmites, sharp patches of crystals, deep pits, and pools of freezing water that could swallow a pikmin whole. He did not consider turning back.

But despite silently picking his way through the tunnel, and several short pauses to listen for disturbances, Celltic could not detect anything else around him. He wondered briefly if what he had seen was simply some sort of animal, but he discarded the thought almost instantly. No, what he had seen was too big to be a lizard or a rat of some sort, too dangerous looking. What little he had seen of it reminded him of a Switherbug; a large, thin Switherbug. Insectoid, at least to some degree.

Finally, despairing, and unwilling to lose himself in the caves, Celltic turned back. Some length of time later, possibly a minute, possibly an hour, the pikmin slipped from the tunnel, pushing his bundle of spears through ahead of him. As he descended the rubble pile, almost slipping once, he wondered how much time had passed since he entered the cave. It couldn't have been too long; he had gone in just after midday, from what he could tell in the rain, and when he emerged he could see that only about an hour had passed. The rain had stopped completely, and the clouds obscuring the sun were already moving into the Far South; there was a thick fog, and the sky was still dreary with cloud banks, but Celltic could see several villages down below.

Celltic's own village, Etak, was the closest to the mountain. It was still a half-hour journey along twisting jungle paths that the untrained eye could miss, and avoiding the hunting traps, the pitfalls, that usually went unmarked. There would be pikmin out and about now, hunters checking the aforementioned traps or moving into the deeper jungles to hunt Switherbug and Shearwig.

His wet cloak still draped about his shoulders, steaming now in the heat of the South, Celltic began his slow descent down the mountain and back to Etak.


	2. The Village

Kolltic sat on a large fallen tree next to his longhut, artfully scraping away at piece of flint with his flintknapping stone. He almost had a cleaning knife completed, one that he could used to strip the meat out of Switherbug shells, would be especially useful for removing the poison sacks from the legs and mouths of the disgusting creatures. Several of his fellow green pikmin stopped by to tell him hello, several of them carrying bundles of spears. Nemvber sat down next to him and strung his bow, eager to use it for the first time since its completion, as he watched Kolltic flintknap.

"That's pretty good," congratulated Nemvber, nodding his head and bud. "Is that for Treynt?"

Kolltic laughed and shook his head. Treynt was the apprentice to the decreipt Apocethary, the village Mystic and Healer. She was an exceptionally beautiful but shy green pikmin, one who many warriors had tried to woo over the years. Like Kolltic, Celltic, and Nemvber she was 17 years old, an adult by green pikmin standards, but a young one.

Nemvber shifted a little bit, testing the fire-hardened tip of one of his junglewood arrows with a finger. "You aren't very talkative today, are you Kolltic? What is it, the rain?"

"I'm fine with the rain," replied Kolltic with a smile, beginning the final touches on his knife. "It's Celltic who has the problem with the rain." With this his eye-smile drooped, until it was a frown. He continued knapping.

Nemvber patted his friend on the shoulder. "Well, the rain's over. Your brother should be back soon." He stood, slinging his quiver full of feather-fletched arrows over his shoulder. "Tell him I'm going hunting up in the south hills." With that he turned on his heel and headed to the spiked palisade that bordered Etak village. As he went, he said hello to Treynt, who fluttered her eyelids at him and went back to treating the infection in a thickly built older warrior's heel.

As Nemvber disappeared into the mists, with most of the village out and wandering inside the palisade, Kolltic finished his knife. He cast a nervous glance up at Treynt, who was wrapping a wide and supple Ghana leaf around the feverish foot of the old warrior. In truth, the knife really was for her; Kolltic didn't enjoy cleaning kills, hated it in fact. He never hunted, and as such he really had no use for the new tool. Nemvber hadn't noticed this fact; like most green pikmin, he thought that a min's responsibility to hunt and kill. No, the knife was better off with Treynt.

Kolltic was a healer at heart. If it weren't for an injury sustained to his fingers as a leafling had left him unable to get full articulation, Kolltic would be working under the Apocethary alongside Treynt. But he had been passed over, and was left to farm berries and gather jungle fruits with most of the females. He had been ridiculed for this behavior; the min were warriors, they didn't "farm." But Celltic had put an end to that torment years ago. He was the fighter brother, a silent but imposing guardian, a master with the bow and one of the quickest knife fighters in the Magnar.

And then, as if on cue, Celltic appeared out of the fog, damp cloak thrown over his wiry shoulders and hood obscuring most of his face. A bundle of junglewood spears was thrown over his shoulder, a flint knife in the sinewbelt of his jungleweave tunic. He approached Kolltic like a Bulblax, with long and purposeful strides, disregarding all obstacles. Treynt greeted him shyly as he walked by, but he only grunted in reply, barely glancing at her; Celltic's strong point was not talking. He hated talking.

"Brother," greeted Kolltic, pulling himself to his feet and brushing the moisture off his thighs and arms. He showed his twin the knife he had made. "I just finished it," he said with a happy eye-smile, then leaned in close. "I'm going to give it to Treynt."

Celltic's eyes flickered into the ghost of a smile, and he nodded, throwing off his hood. "That's good. When are you going to do it?"

"Well," replied Kolltic sheepishly, digging into the loam of the ground with his toes. "To be honest, I was waiting for you. I don't think I could do it alone."

Celltic just shook his head, the eye-smile no longer a ghost but very real. "No, brother, you could do it yourself. You just want me to be there for your glorious triumph. Say, where's Gamd?"

Kolltic pointed out their thickly built father-figure, the older warrior who was having his infected foot dressed by Treynt. Celltic started, somewhat surprised. Kolltic almost laughed; he knew that his twin saw himself as the most observant of all hunters, able to pick out any detail with the quickest glance. What was ironic was that in the village, Celltic rarely noticed anything that wasn't set right in front of him. It was different when he was hunting, of course; Kolltic had gone with him once or twice, saw how rapidly he could track down the most elusive Chatter-Ape, the swiftest and most cunning Switherbug. He could recognize a Shearwig nest by sight alone.

"You're right," laughed Kolltic. "I just thought that maybe I would have something to gloat about." He knew that Celltic liked Treynt as much as he; she was a sort of contest between them. Not a physical contest, or even a contest that they acknowledged outright. Both young min were simply competitive brothers, who saw Treynt as a beautiful womin with good seeding potential. As such, both attempted in their shy manners to woo her, as did Nemvber to a somewhat lesser extent.

There was a short pause. Celltic looked up at the tall jungle trees encroaching on the edge of the village.

"Tomav and Vinya had another seedling this morning." Kolltic had forgotten this tidbit of news in the excitement of showing Celltic his knife.

"Really?" Celltic looked surprised. Tomav was a well-respected warrior in the village; he was widely respected for miles around. Besides Gamd, the most senior warrior in Etak, and Bondokk, the head of the village's three-min council, Tomav's was probably the face most commonly associated with Etak. All of his seedlings had died for one reason or another after their plucking.

"Yeah. He hasn't left it, not even to eat. Vinya's been taking him water. Oh, and Nemvber's gone hunting near Nethet village."

Celltic nodded thoughtfully. The last of Tomav's seedlings had been eaten by a Shearwig. And Nemvber was somewhere near Nethet village, probably mingling with the backwoods hunters in that dark part of the jungle. After a moment he said "Well, I need to talk with Gamd. Good luck with Treynt." He eye-smiled and walked away, the bundle of spears still held under one arm. Kolltic smiled after him, then returned to finishing his knife; its still needed a handle. A piece of junglewood would suffice, lashed on with strong leather strips. He would do the job lovingly.

--

Treynt was helping Gamd to his feet when Celltic walked up to him. The younger of the two pikmin was laughing at a joke that the warrior had made, helping him to test his foot by putting weight on it. Gamd, of course, stood considerably taller and was considerably bulkier than Treynt, who was only an average sized young womin.

"Gamd," hailed Celltic, "I need to speak with you."

Gamd nodded and shooed Treynt away, assuring her that he could walk on his foot thanks to her work and thanking her politely. He turned to Celltic and seemed to frown. "Celltic, out in the rain again? You're absolutely soaking wet. Did you get anything?"

"No. I..."

"You went into the caves again, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I... no, I didn't... I..."

Gamd put a stern hand on the younger pikmin's shoulder. "Celltic, I've done my best to raise you and your brother. I made an oath to your father, bless his soul. After he disappeared I swore to never let you near that great hell-hole."

Celltic made a point to avoid Gamd's eyes, prefering instead to survey his muddy feet. He had been about to ask Gamd if he would accompany him, or at least allow him to get a bronze sword from the central Magnar village of Ortak. The other village, which was larger than Etak and better known, resided high above the jungle floor on a hill called Eastwatch, where Samovar had built the capitol of his Empire centuries ago. They were the only village in Magnar to make bronze swords, and though expensive, the weapons were prized for their killing ability. Now Celltic's mind was preoccupied with memories of his father, which were few; he had last seen him not long after his plucking, when his mother was already dead from Switherbug Fever. The warrior min had decided to explore the caves of Southwatch and had never come back out. Kolltic had never had anything to do with the caves because of that, but Celltic had become obsessed with them.

"Look, I'm sorry," said Celltic. "I just... I wanted to explore a little. See what's in there. I didn't plan on going deep into the tunnels. I just..."

"Quiet." Gamd's voice was hard and sharp. "I will have no more of this cave business. Never again. If I ever find out that you go back... I'll..." But he couldn't think of a punishment, and his voice trailed off. Celltic stepped back, looking not at his adoptive mentor's broad, scarred chest. A ghana poultice was plastered on his right breast, where a Switherbug had scratched him in a recent hunt; the same Switherbug had also gashed his heel, but Gamd had torn off its disgusting head in revenge.

Gamd sighed. "...Look. I have a council to attend in Ortak later today."

Celltic's attention fastened immediately on Gamd's face. The pockmarked countenance of the green pikmin smiled.

"I see that you would like to go with me. Will you be ready soon?"

"I can be ready in just a minute. Let me get rid of these spears first." Celltic turned on his heel and bounded back towards the longhut he shared with Nemvber, Tomav, four other warriors, and Gamd. It was one of the largest buildings in the village, and had punji spikes surrounding it like the bristly hair of a Prowler, which was a formidable junglecat. There was a door that swung inward, fastened on water-resistant leather hinges, but there was no way to lock the door and it usually stayed open anyway, except during heavy rains. Two warriors were still inside, one of whom was sleeping off a bad headache and the other who was entangled with his mate and singing a gentle lullaby. Tomav's spouse, Vinya, was also in the hut, carrying on a funny conversation with Gamd's wife, Kreame.

The hut had a wood-framed ceiling, layered with ghana and jungleplant leaves, shaped in an A-frame so that water rolled off to either side rather than sit and stagnate. There were eight relatively large compartments, four on either side of a spacious hallway (adorned with spear bundles, arrows, tunics, and cloaks). Each compartment was seperated from its neighbors by a type of wood that resembled bamboo, and every compartment had a square window with a curtain of dried jungleplant leaves. Celltic's compartment was on the right, the third one down. Gamd's was on his right, Nemvber's was on his left, and Tomav's was directly in front. A sling that hung from the ceiling served as a comfortable, swaying bed.

"Hello Celltic," hailed Kreame in a soft voice. She was almost as old as Gamd, one of the oldest womin in the village, but she was also one of the most beautiful.

"Hello. How are you, Vinya?"

Vinya looked exhausted. Though younger than Kreame, stress and lack of sleep had brought out the lines in her somewhat homely face. There was a mark under her flower that marked where Tomav's seedling had hung; Celltic wondered why he had never seen it. Then he remembered that she had been staying in Ortak for the past few months.

"I'm fine, thank you Celltic. Tomav is in the garden, if you want to talk to him. He could use some friendly conversation."

"I'm afraid I don't have the time," replied Celltic, hanging up his still wet cloak in the corner, next to his bed of spongy ghana leaves. "I'm going to accompany Gamd to Ortak. Nice to have you back."

Vinya's face seemed to fall. Celltic felt bad for turning down her offer to speak with Tomav; he liked both of the pair. He especially looked up to Tomav, who was a sort of older brother to nearly every warrior in Etak. But Vinya hid her disappointment expertly, and a second later Celltic had forgotten about it. "Well, good luck. Tell young Draew I said hi."

Celltic nodded, depositing his bundle of spears at the foot of his leafy bed. Draew was Tomav's nephew, a masterful fighter who was about Celltic's age. "I will. Bye."

The two womin said bye and went back to their conversation. "Make sure Gamd doesn't run on that foot of his," cautioned Kreame with a slight eye-smile.

The warrior who had been singing to his mate was now up and about, but his wife was asleep. The min had draped a dry jungleweave cloak over her.

"So you're going to Ortak?" asked the warrior in a hushed voice as he threw on a tunic.

Celltic nodded. "Nuesi, I don't understand you," he said in a quiet voice. "Three seedlings and you already want another one?"

Nuesi shrugged. "What's wrong with giving life? When you take a wife, you will understand."

"Treynt is already taken."

Outside, Gamd was waiting, a long flint-tipped spear held like a walking stick in his large hands.. Celltic caught a glimpse of Kolltic on the other side of the village, flipping his knife back and forth as he watched Treynt with what appeared to be longing. Still, at this distance Celltic could not be sure what his brother was feeling. He glanced at Gamd.

"Ready to go?" asked Gamd. He tossed Celltic a flint-tipped spear of his own.

Celltic caught the spear and gripped it loosely. "As ready as I'll ever be. How much do you think you can walk?" He gestured at his mentor's foot.

"I can walk easily. It doesn't hurt." Gamd looked almost annoyed, but he didn't say another word until they were well away from Etak. The punji spikes that prickled from the junglewood palislade passed quickly, the wandering pikmin of the village they met on the path became fewer and fewer, until finally after some time they were following a fast-running stream towards Ortak. Eventually they took a left, deftly avoiding a series of deadly pitfalls invisible to the untrained eye, and came to a rocky crossing. Tall, forboding rocks and massive trees blocked out everything but a narrow stream of light, which illuminated several dry stepping stones. Gamd took these, crossing the stream slowly and using his spear to aid his bad foot. Since there wasn't enough room for more than one pikmin on the rocks at a time, Celltic scrambled up the tall rocks that the water poured over, then jumped down into a patch of springy leaves on the other side.

"Celltic, Celltic," admonished Gamd in a playful voice as they continued along the twisting path. "Why can't you ever take the beaten path?"

Celltic shrugged, shouldering his spear. "I don't know. It bores me, maybe. Besides, it was quicker to go around."

Gamd only nodded. "True, true. You're your father's min alright."

Celltic wondered what Gamd was talking about, but didn't say anything.

The journey continued almost unabated after that. Gamd stopped at the next stream, which ran even faster than the first, but only to take a quick drink. Celltic had a drink too, but by the time he was finished he had to jog to catch up with his mentor.

Suddenly something shifted in the underbrush. Both pikmin stopped, gripping their spears, waiting. The something shifted again.

Celltic began to wonder what it was. A Prowler? If it was, this was the first time he'd ever heard of one of the junglecats coming so close to armed green pikmin. Or was it a Switherbug? No, they always hid whenever greens came around, and besides that they never came this deep into clean jungle.

Then a pikmin stepped out of the underbrush. He was green, obviously a warrior, but he looked disheveled, haunted. His eyes were wide and there was blood on his face, on his ripped tunic, on his hands. He was panting, and looked lost. Celltic recognized him a second later; Kambdrad, the fiercest warrior in Nethet village. What was he doing here, and why was he so bloody?

"Kambdrad?" asked Gamd, almost in disbelief. Celltic detected a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Gamd!" cried Kambdrad, sounding relieved. His flower drooped, he was exhausted. "Brown pikmin! They attacked Nethet! They attacked Nethet!"

Both Etak pikmin froze. Celltic gasped. Brown pikmin? In the Magnar? It couldn't be.

"What happened? Tell me everything."

Two more Nethet warriors appeared from the underbrush. One was supporting the other, who had a spear wound in his chest and was bleeding badly. Both looked barely aware of their surroundings.

"They attacked us during the rain. They came from everywhere! They stabbed Hordrad, here." Kambdrad gestured at the wounded green pikmin, who was being lowered into a bush of ghana leaves by his friend. "I escaped with my life and came to get you. Where's the village? We need to get back to Nethet, before they get away."

Celltic knew Kambdrad, had known him for most of his life. He was a tough warrior, a killer to the core and already the bearer of a deep grudge against the barbaric brown pikmin. He wondered why Kambdrad would run from the fight. There had to be more to it than just being outnumbered and being caught by surprise. The blood was obviously seeping from wounds on his own body. Had they overpowered him? If so, how had he escaped?

"Slow down," ordered Gamd. "Just take a deep breath, we'll get the warriors." He turned to look at Celltic. "Quick, run back to the village. Get every warrior you can!"

"What about you?"

"I'm going to Nethet with Kambdrad. Keisem, take Hordrad to Etak as fast as you can, just follow this trail. The Apocethary will take care of him. Celltic, leave him some marks to show where to go near the traps."

"You can't just go to Nethet!" cried Celltic, taken aback. "Your foot..."

"My foot is fine! I'm old is all; I just need a head start. GO!"

Celltic assented reluctantly, but quickly. He hesitated only for a second, then threw his spear to Kambdrad, who caught it expertly and looked to Gamd impatiently. Then Celltic turned, and ran.

--

**There you go. Kambdrad was a character in the old version, BTW.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pikmin.**


	3. Mutilation

The jungle was a blur as Celltic raced back to Etak. Branches and leaves slapped at him, leaving scratches and painful contusions. He barely stopped when he came to the trapped pitfalls, kicking up clumps of clay-like mud on the safe path and then sprinting headlong to the stream. He did not go up the tall rocks this time, instead leaping the water in a single bound. He hit the ground and rolled into his shoulder before scrambling upright in the blink of an eye. He continued to run, sprinting, breathing ragged now as he scrambled up a steep slope. When he came to the top, he could see the domestic firesmoke of Etak.

"Brown pikmin!" cried Celltic from atop the rise. He slid down it on his back and rolled at the bottom before coming to his feet next to a small snare. It almost caught him by the ankle, but at the last possible instant Celltic dove to the side and slipped free. There was no way he was going to get caught in such a trap before he could get to the village; he cursed whoever had left it there and continued to run.

There were only two gaps in the palislade, where the sharpened stakes turned inward to allow passage past the stem-high wall. As Celltic ran through the gap on the northern side of the village, he yelled "Brown pikmin! Brown pikmin!" as loud as he could. Apparently several pikmin had heard his first yell, and many were already standing outside their huts in the mud. A few were not yet clothed.

"Brown pikmin!" Celltic cried again, stumbling to a weary stop in the open. He put his hands on his knees and panted, mustering the breath to explain his wild yells.

The head of the village council, Bondokk, appeared from the Council Hut, an imposing round building with mud-plastered junglewood walls and an imposing wall of spikes before it. Bondokk was huge, bigger even than Gamd. Long ago it had mostly been muscle, but as the years had passed Bondokk's imposing physique had softened. His personality, however, had not; he was singularly fair, hard as iron and supple as junglewood. When a pikmin deserved punishment, they received it as soon as the councilmin had passed judgement. He was one of three pikmin in the village to own a bronze sword, the other two being Tomav and Gamd, the other members of the council.

"What is the meaning of this?" questioned Bondokk in a booming voice, massive arms high over his head. The flower atop his thick stem bent forward aggressively.

Celltic did not falter, though his lungs burned from his hard run. "Gamd sent me! Get the warriors, he said. The brown pikmin have attacked Nethet village!"

The stupified quiet among the pikmin of the village suddenly shattered. Warriors yelled and pikmin began to scream and run willy-nilly about the village. Without being told more, the warriors ran to their longhut compartments and began to equip theirselves for a fight. Bondokk stood still; Celltic followed suit.

"How does Gamd know that the barbarians attacked Nethet?"

"Kambdrad found us, in the jungle. He looked like he had come from a fight and one of the others, Hordrad I think, had a spear wound. They should be here later. But we have to go!"

"How long ago was the raid?"

"I don't know. Kambdrad said it was during the rain."

Bondokk nodded. "Alright then. The barbarians will have left by now, but if we hurry we can catch them before they disappear into the marshes. Can you be ready to go with us?"

Celltic nodded, if somewhat nervously. A horrible thought had suddenly occurred to him.

Nemvber had gone to Nethet.

"Celltic. Go and get your things." Bondokk's voice was firm, an order. Celltic nodded and ran to his longhut.

Kolltic was waiting for him. His eyes were wide, nervous. He still had the finished flint knife in his hand. "What's going on? How can there be brown pikmin in Magnar?"

"I don't know!" replied Celltic wearily, shaking the water off his bud. His brother blocked his way into the longhut. "Look, just... get out of the way so I can get my bow. Please!"

Kolltic didn't move. He folded his arms across his chest, still holding the knife, and glared at his brother. "Tomav will have to go with you, you know. Away from his only seedling."

"I don't care!"

"You never care. You've never fought before. Have you even seen brown pikmin?"

"Have you?"

"Of course not. They eat green pikmin. They eat us! You know that!"

"No they don't. Get out of the way!" For the first time in years, Celltic shoved his brother out of the way. Kolltic stumbled, hit the wall of the hut, and caught himself. He stared at Celltic as if dumbstruck, but the other did not return the look, instead throwing the door out of his way and running into the building. Celltic didn't have time for this. He had to get to Nethet, he had to find Nemvber. He had to kill every damned brown pikmin he could find!

Kreame was alone in her and Gamd's compartment. She looked at Celltic in confusion, then gasped when she saw the blood on his arms, legs and face. "Gamd's alright," Celltic assured her, putting up the palms of his hands as if in defense. "We met Kambdrad and two others on the path. One was wounded. He said, Kambdrad said, that brown pikmin raided Nethet. Gamd's already on his way there."

"But he can't fight with his foot like it is!" she exclaimed. "Oh, how will he get to Nethet in time to catch anything except his own death?"

Celltic gripped the womin's shoulders and shook her. "Kreame, stop! He's fine! He'll be fine! We'll be there before him anyway." She pushed him back and glared, jabbing at his chest with a finger. Celltic recognized his mistake, laying hands on a womin so roughly, and hung his head in shame.

"Celltic. You have never taken a life. How will you be able to kill those... those barbarians?" A look of desperation was getting through Kreame's defenses. She paused to compose herself and stepped back.

Celltic did not say another word. He was too scared to. Instead, he threw on a dry jungleweave cloak and grabbed his bow, a leather quiver, and a spear out of the corner. He grabbed a bundle of flint-tipped arrows, stripped off the jungleweed binding and dumping the arrows point-first into his quiver, then threw it over his shoulder and tightened the leather straps. He had to restring his bow, since he didn't want to risk the chance that today's rains had somehow dampened the sinew string; the window in his compartment may have been small and protected by a curtain of dry jungleplant leaf, but water could still get in.

There was a bowl of Gum'bla fruit turned into a paste that sat under ghana leaves near Celltic's bed. He withdrew the bowl, held it outside the window for a few seconds to let water drip into it, and then brought it back in. While he held the bowl with one hand, the young budling dipped two fingers of his other hand into the bowl and stirred the water in. Then he brought the fingers up to his face, dark red with the Gum'bla fruit's essence, and streaked it across his face, then his chest, then his shoulders. It was only the third time he had ever donned the warrior paint.

As Celltic ran to the door, he nearly ran into two warriors carrying bundles of short, flint-tipped spears. He stopped for a second and looked over into Nuesi's compartment; his wife was awake, her eyes bleary and her facial expression one of confusion. She was up on her elbows. "Where's Nuesi?" she asked.

"The brown pikmin attacked Nethet," replied Celltic. He had no idea where Nuesi was. Then he ran out the door, leaving the womin behind.

Kolltic was outside the door, his face sad. Celltic had to stop to avoid running over him.

"Look... Celltic, I love you. You're my brother, my only brother. We are the same blood." He held up the flint knife, handle first, offering it to his brother. "Take the knife. I do not agree with what you are doing, but if you are to fight... I want my brother to be protected. It is a good knife."

"It is a good knife," agreed Celltic, reluctantly taking the small weapon. He tucked it into his sinewbelt and slung his bow over his shoulder. He suddenly realized that he had not picked up a spear on his way out of the hut. Oh well, too late now. It was probably best that he stay away from the actual fighting anyway.

Kolltic threw his arms about his brother and hugged him. "Goodbye Celltic. Please come back."

Celltic pushed his brother away after a few seconds. Most of the warriors were already pouring out of the second gap in the palislade, armed with bundles of fire-hardened throwing spears and longer flint-tipped spears meant for stabbing. In all, there were more than sixty fighting min leaving the village. "I will come back, Kolltic. Don't worry about me. Worry about the browns." He eye-smiled, forced himself to anyway, and then ran away.

He wondered if he really would come back. Then he forced the thought from his head and made a beeline for the seedling garden. It was a small, nutrient rich patch of soil surrounded by a high wall of bamboo-like wood, with a tall doored gate that had a beautiful arch over it. Inside, beautiful flowering plants grew, as well as newborn pikmin, all of them sheltered by a wooden frame that supported a semi-transparent ghana leaf roof. As Celltic approached, Vinya emerged from the gates, crying openly. She hurried past him before he could ask what was wrong. Then, turning, Celltic went into the garden, apprehension in his gut.

There was only one seedling in the garden, that of Tomav's. A single pikmin sat crosslegged in front of the small, waving stem of the newborn, caressing it now and then. A few more days, maybe a week, and then it would be plucked. The crosslegged pikmin was Tomav. He must have heard Celltic's yelling and saw him talking with Bondokk, then dashed in and out of the longhut before Celltic could get there, because his prized bronze sword was belted to his side. It's wooden sheath stuck in the moist soil at Tomav's side.

"Tomav?" asked Celltic timidly. "Are you coming with us?"

Tomav was not a young warrior, but he was not an old one either. Still, the silence he kept and his movements as he drew himself off the ground were that of an old pikmin. It seemed as if his bones were creaking, or he were rooted to the ground and had to rip himself free. "Yes. Yes, I'm coming." His voice was shaking, laced with disappointment and regret. Celltic suddenly regretted ever telling the village about the brown pikmin; what good would have come from it, other than to very possibly get more greens killed? But he knew that he had had no choice.

Slowly, reluctantly, Tomav turned away from his seedling, caressing its leaf one last time before pushing past Celltic and moving out the open door. Slowly he turned, looked at his newborn for the last time, and then he began to run for the gate. Celltic ran after him, easily overtaking him.

Never before had Tomav hesitated to leave as he did now. Little could Celltic understand of why he did this. He was not acting like Tomav. He was not the friendly, caring "older brother" of the warriors in Etak village. When he stopped at the gap in the palislade and grabbed a small, ovalish junglewood shield, he hesitated again. When he touched the single leather strap, it seemed to burn him. Tomav's sad grey eyes betrayed his emotion. Celltic wisely avoided asking what was wrong, and continued to move on.

As Celltic ran, following the fleeting forms of other warriors, he wondered for just a second what would happen should Tomav die before his seedling was born.

--

The journey to Nethet was a challenging run. Being lower than the area surrounded Etak, the day's hard rain had washed out a crude wooden dam, flooding many of the area's running water over their normal banks. The green warriors were forced to make a long detour to the south that eventually led them over an old log-bridge. The fearsome greens were forced to dodge through trails that few of them knew well after that, their bodies and clothing blending into the jungle as they ran. Only their warrior facepaint stood out, and even then it did not stand out well in the gloomy jungle around Nethet.

Finally they came to the village itself. The jungle was even thinner here than anywhere else in the region. Only a few scattered trees marked the dark and gloomy village that was shrouded on all sides by tall hills covered in thick greenery. Two of the huge hills sat on either side of the village; as they crested the final hill leading into the village on the eastern side, Celltic could see fires down below. They weren't domestic cooking fires.

Panting, tired from his long runs, Celltic slid down the hill and into the village proper. Long before he reached the palisade, he found himself already nearly in the open. When he did reach the palisade, he saw that it had been destroyed. The crude buildings of the small, backwater community were all burning from the inside out; the central community hut, which doubled as the Council hut, had been reduced to twigs and splinters, a huge column of black smoke fleeing high into the sky.

There were bodies everywhere.

At first, Celltic could hardly compose himself. He jumped the shattered wall around the village and ran back and forth, searching each of the bodies for Nemvber. Every face was unfamiliar, splashed with mud, the bodies left where they fell in the mud. Green pikmin were ripped limb from limb here and there, a few faces unrecognizable. Clubs had been used to beat many of the min to death, and apparently many of the clubs had been spiked. Spears protruded from other bodies. The pools of standing water in the village were all pink with blood.

This had not been a battle, not by any definition. The zeal the brown pikmin had applied to their killing was ridiculous, whole stretches of ground covered with the remains of a single green. Not even a real raid, but a slaughter. A massacre.

Nuesi stood near Celltic, seeming to be fashioned to the ground, arms limp at his sides. He looked about, anger and helplessness growing in his eyes. Finally he let out a muffled sob, stumbled back, and covered his face. Warriors milled about in groups, whispering to one another, the weapons they had held so readily now held loose at their sides. Celltic rubbed his stem, horrified at the carnage. He looked over at Tomav. The elder warrior's bronze sword was still held tight in its wooden sheath, he didn't even have a hand on it. A mask of indifference was on his face; Tomav was obviously remembering the slaying of his first child, who would have been twelve years old by now. Speared to a tree by browns when he wandered too far from the village. Found days later with his legs and face gnawed off by Prowlers. That had been five years ago.

"This... this is just horrible," said Nuesi, disgusted, his stem drooping. Celltic wondered if he was thinking about his young childmin, how easily this could have happened to them.

Celltic shook his head, dropping his hand from the base of his stem to his sinew belt. Then he noticed something, and started.

"Hey. Why are there so few womin and seedlings? And where are the brown pikmin?"

Tomav answered him. Celltic jumped when he realized that the elder warrior was no longer standing alone, but right behind him. "They took them. The ones they didn't kill, that is. I doubt there were many browns killed, but if there were... the browns would have carried them with them. They leave those they kill where they lay, but they bury their own dead. Pathetic. No honor at all."

"Barbarians." spat Nuesi. Several warriors grumbled in agreement.

There was suddenly a strangled scream from nearby, ripping through the crackle of fires and the whispers of the warriors. Celltic jumped, fear gripped his gut. A cold knot grew in his throat. He'd forgotten about Nemvber... where was he?

The warriors broke into a run, searching for the source of the sound. Celltic found it first, behind the great black column of smoke that marked the remains of the Council hut. It was not Nemvber.

Kambdrad was on his knees, a body draped over his thighs, his own body tight against it in a heartbroken embrace. Gamd stood over him, face sad and at the same time furious, gripping his spear tightly and bracing himself against it. There was blood on the ground.

"Gamd!" cried Celltic, rushing to his mentor. The elder warrior did not respond, or even look up. Celltic ran to him, slid to a halt in the mud, caught himself. His gut did a somersault and his heart stopped beating when he saw what Kambdrad was holding. It was not just a body.

It was Kambdrad's wife. Nemve. Nemvber's older sister. And Kambdrad was sobbing, rocking back and forth, pleading with his mate to come back to him, repeating the phrase, "No, no, no. No no no." Tears mingled with the blood that Kambdrad slowly cleaned off Nemve's face. He stroked her stem lovingly; her flower was in his hand, independant of its stem, beautiful white petals mangled and the bulging seed that hung from it crushed. Never to be planted, never to live. The hope of life ground into the mud and stomped out.

Celltic took a step backwards when he saw what had happened to Nemve. A row of sharpened stakes had been set into the ground not far away. Cries of anger and despair lifted from the warriors around him as they saw that there were bodies impaled on the spikes, all of them seeded womin, old pikmin, and very young childmin. A single spike stood unadorned, bright red with the blood of Nemve.

Celltic stumbled back, gagged, and then turned away. He gagged again, doubled over, and retched until his breakfast of junglesap, nectar and Gum'bla fruit covered the mud at his feet.

After a minute, Celltic heard Tomav and Gamd conversing in hushed tones, Kambdrad's despairing sobs almost drowning them out. "This was not just a raid," said Tomav. "The browns that came here killed almost everything. There don't seem to be more than a handful of captives taken."

Gamd shook his head sadly. "You're right. This was no raid. It was systematic mass murder; all those that would not make slaves were impaled. Seeded womin, the old, the young. All the min, from leaflings to elders, have been butchered. It appears that only the smallest number of womin were taken."

Celltic stood, chest heaving, and watched the two older pikmin closely. They were moving purposefully, their hands on their weapons. Tomav had the familiar glint back in his eyes, but now it was mixed with a burning, murderous anger. One could almost see as plans were built up detail by detail in both min's minds. Their eyes were working furiously, looking everywhere but at the living pikmin. Finally Tomav drew his bronze sword.

"I wish I had my own sword," muttered Gamd.

"I would have brought it if I had thought about it," replied Tomav.

"That's fine. It doesn't matter." Gamd looked directly at Tomav now, and they locked eyes. "I want you to go back to the village now."

Tomav shook his head in a manner that suggested to Celltic that he knew this order was coming. "No. I'm not going back to the village after what I've seen here. The pikmin who did this will all pay. I'm going to see to that."

"Vengeance is a terrible reason to die, Tomav. Think of your seedling."

"My seedling will still be there when I get back. For once, I am sure of this."

"Then go back."

"No." Tomav shook his head again, strode past Gamd, and then turned back to the warriors. They had crowded around Kambdrad now, were comforting him, laying sad hands on his heaving shoulders. Nobody could console him.

"Min!" roared the tall, well-muscled warrior. He pulled his oval-shaped, supple shield of his back and gripped it tightly. "Listen to me. Are there any of you here who wish to return to Etak?"

The warriors looked at one another, at Tomav, at their spears. A few answered with vehement "no's" that shook the remains of Nethet.

Tomav nodded, satisfied. Celltic suddenly realized that he had just passed up the opportunity to return home, avoid this whole messy business.

"Alright then. Who's ready to deal out vengeance?"

The crowd of warriors clustered closer together, raised their spears to the air and roared. Tomav nodded again, slapped the flat of his sword against his shield. "Alright! And what do we do with the barbarians who did this to our people?"

"_Kill them!_"

"How many?"

"_All of them!_"

Celltic's own reply was halfhearted. His mind was preoccuppied with sudden and unexpected thoughts of Treynt, of Kolltic, of Nemvber. Of the bronze sword in Ortak. Of Tomav's seedling, of Nuesi's young childmin. Of the beautful jungle around Etak, of the brilliant diamonds in the Southwatch caves. Of Southwatch itself. And finally, of Samovar the Great.

Samovar would not have allowed this massacre to happen. He would have stopped it. Or if he hadn't, if he couldn't have been there, then he would hunted down and slaughtered every last barbarian responsible for it.

Celltic would not back out. He would see this through. All other thoughts were discarded and he suddenly relished the idea of putting arrows in the savages that had committed this crime.

Suddenly, someone screamed. The warriors stopped, the buildup of their bloodthirst suddenly abated. For on one of the hills, descending with the speed of a hunting Prowler, the momentum of a charging Bulblax, was Nemvber.

Nemvber was screaming "no".

Seeing the young warrior coming down the hill, Tomav jumped in front of Kambdrad. He was blocking Nemvber's view of Nemve, but not of the spikes and the butchered green pikmin on the ground. Nemvber continued to run, discarding his bundle of spears at the bottom of the slope. He slid to a stop at the first body and rolled it over with the squelch of mud, recoiled, and ran to the next. And then the next, and the next, and the body after that. Finally he came to Celltic, slid to a stop in front of him, and gripped his shoulders with a grip like iron.

"Nemve! Where's Nemve!"

Celltic shook his head, stuttering, unable to speak. His eyes widened.

"_Where's Nemve!?_"

Gamd's hand appeared on Nemvber's shoulder, pulled him away from Celltic and spun him around. Nemvber appealed to him, asking desperately where Nemve was. All Gamd did was shake his head sadly. And with that headshake, he told Nemvber all he could possibly know.

Nemvber backed away slowly, unwilling to accept that his dear seed-sister was dead. His face went emotionless, the hard shell that Celltic knew so well. His friend knew the inevitable, but it was too much for him. He turned away.

Nemvber looked first at the spikes. His gaze roamed over most of them quickly, stopped once or twice on familiar faces, and then stopped completely on the bloody spike that Nemve had been impaled on. A strangled sob escaped from the budling's heaving chest. It erupted into a scream as he turned to Tomav, who's face was one of deep sadness and understanding. The older warrior lowered his head and stepped aside.

Kambdrad looked up at the younger pikmin, his eyes red-rimmed and his green face streaked with tears and blood. Nemvber screamed and stepped forward, dropped to his knees in front of Kambdrad, and buried his face in Nemve's bloody chest. There he stayed for some time, beating the mud with his fist and sobbing raggedly. Kambdrad had stopped crying; he put his hand on his mate's brother's shoulder, held it there, and wept inwardly. A few tears still streamed down his face, the tears of one who feels like they could have done more to stop what happened.

Slowly, Tomav turned back to the other warriors, looking several of them in the eye. He held up his sword and pointed it at the huddled forms of Nemvber, Kambdrad and poor, dead Nemve. He spoke slowly, softly, barely loud enough for the other pikmin to hear him over the crying. Celltic could hardly bear to watch, tears now running out of his own eyes, which were hastily wiped away with his cloak.

"What has happened today is an atrocity."

Angry murmers of assent rose up from the crowd.

"It is a challenge," stated Tomav. "The savages have brutally murdered our kin, our friends and fellow greens. We will not let this challenge go unanswered."

The pikmin roared. Celltic yelled, shook his bow in the air, and wiped away his last tear.

"Let's go! Come on!" came Gamd's roar, his turn to speak. "No mercy, no stopping! Kill or die!"

"_Raaagh!_"

As one, the crowd began to surge forward, towards the narrow pass that led between the massive jungle hills in front of them. Celltic hesitated for only a moment. He turned to find Tomav talking quietly with Nemvber and Kambdrad. Nemvber nodded to something, his eyes blazing with murderous fury and still gushing tears, but Kambdrad only shook his head.

Slowly, Tomav backed away, and then ran after the crowd. Nemvber struggled to his feet after him, regarded Celltic for a moment, and then ran across the clearing to the bundle of spears he had dropped. Kambdrad lifted himself much slower, looking only at Nemve. Slowly he turned away and carried her towards the remains of Nethet village's seedling garden.

Celltic understood now. Nemvber was going to avenge his sister. Kambdrad was going to stay with her.

Celltic would help his friend. Nemve's death, the death of her and Kambdrad's unborn seedling, the death of all these other greens, would not go unavenged.

As Celltic ran after the ground of warriors, Nemvber caught up with him. A look of grim determination dominated his face. Both pikmin regarded the other as they ran, weapons over their shoulders.

"Are you ready?" one of them asked.

"I'm more than ready," replied the other.

Both budlings sprinted after the warriors with murder on their hearts and weapons in their hands. They would track down the killers of their fellow greens, and they would kill them in turn.

It was a cycle of violence, Celltic realized as they caught up with the group, slowed now by the hard passage through the mountainous terrain of southern Magnar, and the thickening jungle. A cycle of violence that would never end.

--

**I'm hoping to interweave more tension and foreshadowing, suspense and fulfillment into this story. Some things from the old version of the story will stay the same (looks at Insidious Harbinger: Gamd, Gamd, Gamd, hint hint hint), while others will change (let's just say that Kolltic has my favorite form of character shield: potential).**

**Read & Review! I love to update and that only happens when I have reviews.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pikmin.**


	4. Retaliation

Sixty-five warriors ran through the jungle. Spiny jungle plants, the sucking mud, and the maze of gnarled trees did nothing to slow them. Even still, Nemvber overtook them all. In his hand he held death. In his heart, bloodthirst. He yearned to butcher the barbarians as they had savaged his sister, to rend them apart with his bare hands.

Celltic was right behind his friend, keeping pace with an effort. Nemvber's frenzied run, dodging boulder and marsh pit, was more than harrowing. Twice he sat off traps that both only narrowly avoided. Another warrior slipped into a bog and had to be pulled free by Tomav. Nuise, who ran nearby, was caught in a snare and fell to his face. Celltic stopped to help him, but Nemvber did not, so Celltic continued running.

The warriors howled as they began to close the distance to their quarry. Deep tracks had been left in the deep mud, and judging by the small amount of water in them they were judged to be relatively fresh. The browns were either unaware that they would be followed, or they just didn't care. Celltic wondered how many there were; a score, a hundred, a thousand? But Nemvber never faltered, his back muscles tensed as he hurtled bog and pitfall alike with huge bounds.

Tomav was ahead of the duo now, off to the left somewhere. Celltic caught glimpses of him occassionally, but tried to focus on keeping up with his friend. He was already tired, and Nemvber was relatively fresh when the long hunt had begun. The older warrior was sprinting full tilt up a leaning log the next Celltic saw him, leaping off and hitting a hillside with a splashing thump before sliding down on his back. Instantly the min was up, already far ahead of Nemvber. Other warriors sprinted past and Celltic realized that his friend was saving himself for the battle.

Tomav began to yell something incomprehensible through the trees. The warriors let out a fierce battle cry, long and howling, a true blood-curdler. Celltic joined in halfheartedly, his lungs burning. He'd done too much running today.

And then they crested the last hill.

Nemvber skidded to a stop instantly, shoulders heaving, growling like a maddened animal. He leaned forward aggressively, his stem bent forward as if already in mid-attack. Celltic pulled to a stop just behind him, panting and gasping for breath. He rested his hands on his knees and looked down below.

It was shocking. More than a hundred brown pikmin were scattered in the washed out valley below, a ramshackle village seeming to have grown up around them. On the far side of the village was a rocky ravine that wound deeper into the marshes. Huts were simple sticks lashed together, with gaps everywhere, and plastered with muddy bogweed. Putrid water stood in stagnating pools everywhere. Shouts and angry growls emanated from the browns as they corralled a tiny group of green pikmin into a muddy pit near the center of the village. Nemvber snarled, muscles rolling beneath taut skin.

"Beasts," muttered the pikmin. His arm twitched. Celltic wondered if his friend's sanity had been unbalanced. "Beasts. I'll kill them all."

The other warriors began to cluster behind the hill, having already seen what Celltic now watched. He heard Tomav call them down, considered pulling Nemvber along with him before they were spotted, but decided not to touch him. There was something wrong with the budling.

"Listen carefully," whispered Tomav. His breathing was labored, but nowhere near as much as Celltic's. The bronze sword was buckled at his side and his eyes were blazing with anger. "Gamd is taking the other min around to attack the barbarians from another side. It may be a while before he's in position to attack."

"How will we know when he's in position?" asked Nemvber in a low growl. Celltic started, unaware that the min had come down the hill with him.

"He's going to attack first," replied Tomav. "When we see the first signs of any significant commotion, we will launch arrows into the village. Try not to drop any arrows into the prison pit. Attack on my signal."

"What's the signal?" asked Nuise, who was sitting on a muddy rock.

"Nightmare," said Nemvber before Tomav could respond. Several warriors looked at him questioningly, but did not press the matter.

Tomav nodded. "Fine. 'Nightmare' it is then. Agreed?"

The min replied unamimously in the positive. Celltic pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to the string of his bow. Nemvber selected a long spear from his bundle and tested it for weight, nodded, and began to streak his face with mud. The other warriors did the same.

After the min had sufficiently camaflouged themselves, Tomav ordered them over the hill. They spread out, slinking quietly through the jungle. The descent down the hill was slick, disgusting. Celltic braced himself against the stunted, gnarled marsh trees that grew here and eased himself down with the other archers. There were a dozen of them, all excellent shots, with Tomav's final warning sharp in their minds: "Remember, watch out for their throwing axes and don't let them grapple with you. Look out for sentries."

Celltic came to a stop between two fire-blackened trees, not far from the edge of the large clearing that housed the browns. He took note of a huge communal hut made mostly of dried marsh grasses. The leaders of the tribe would be in there. But then, some of the green captives could also be somewhere in that building. He decided not to shoot at it, but he would keep an eye on the entrances.

Slowly the minutes ticked by. The dim shape that was Nemvber, wedged inbetween two massive bog weeds and a pool of water, began to move impatiently. The wiry hunter was never this fidgety; something was definitely wrong.

Still, nothing happened. The browns continued to roam about their ragged village, small ratty looking childmin dashing around their legs. For pikmin, browns were very unusual. They were not slim and well-muscled, nor was their skin smooth and pleasant to the touch. They had huge, grotesque bodies, with huge muscled arms that hung down well past their knotted knees. In comparison to these oversized and cumbersone bodies, the browns possessed tiny misshappen heads, most of which were dominated by large toothy mouths that the browns used to tear apart raw meat. Beady little eyes stared out from their sunken countenances, and Celltic noticed that none of the brown pikmin seemed to have anything resembling a neck; it was as if their heads were simply pulled into their shoulders. Even their stems were misshapen; droopy, their skin like treebark, and their leaves, buds and flowers shaped oddly.

There were long throwing spears leaning against every hut, Celltic noticed. A few warriors sat cross-legged around a small fire, sharpening the long sticks until they could pierce the flesh of a Bulblax, and then hardening them with touches of flame. Most of the spears were wrapped tightly with what appeared leather, but only in a small area near the middle where the spears would be gripped. Almost like green spears, but long enough to be a fighting spear.

Suddenly, one of the brown pikmin howled. It came from the far side of the village, behind the large communal hut. Celltic readied the arrow on his bow and sighted on a target standing near the prison hut. A budling, like himself. Rows of spiny teeth jutted from its underbite. For a moment he pitied the creature; then he forced that pity from his mind and drew back the arrow.

A few tense seconds passed. Brown pikmin began to stir, confused. Suddenly, one of the warriors near the spear-fire clutched where its almost invisible throat and fell dead. Three more followed quickly.

"Nightmare," came the signal. But it was not Tomav; it was Nemvber. The budling was already up and running, spear drawn back to throw. Howling greens jumped up from the mossy underbrush and ran after him, their own weapons at the ready. Tomav was after them, bronze sword in one hand and junglewood shield held in the other.

Celltic fired his first arrow as soon as he heard Nemvber speak the signal. Only a second later did he realize his mistake, that Tomav had not said a word. But it didn't matter now, the fight had already begun. He watched in satisfaction as the brown standing over the prison pit toppled over backwards with an arrow below its chin. Already the green had nocked another arrow and was sighting it.

It was chaos. Brown pikmin who had been moving towards the far side of the village a moment before were now running for spear bundles. Womin and childmin howled and screamed, scattering in all directions. Most of them headed for the communal hut; Celltic let fly his second arrow into a leafling's neck, or what should have been a neck, and watched it collapse before firing again.

Again, again, again. Browns fell left and right, but more took their place. Twice Celltic put an arrow in a warrior's chest, only for it to snap the shaft off and continue fighting. The big brutes were savages in battle; flint throwing axes, shaped like meatcleavers, flew through the air as accurately as any arrow. Greens and browns alike cried out as they were slain or injured. Gamd appeared, pinning a brown pikmin to the ground with his spear, goring it through the heart. Nemvber disappeared once, twice, throwing his spears with deadly precision until he had no more to throw, and then fighting his way towards the prison pit with the spear of a fallen enemy.

Still Celltic continued to fire his bow, again and again until half the arrows in his quiver were spent. By then the battle was too chaotic for anyone else to risk firing another arrow; the other archers nearby shouldered their bows and rushed closer to the action. Celltic followed, but slower and with an arrow nocked to his string.

_Twang_. The bow fired again, protruding an arrow from a brown pikmin's mouth. Another warrior roared like a wounded Bulblax, shoved the dumbfounded body of its comrade aside, and hurled a spear in Celltic's direction. The agile green pikmin dodged to the side, easily avoiding the spear, but felt it pin his jungleweave cloak to the muddy ground. Fear suddenly boiling in his gut, Celltic ripped himself free and fired another arrow. He missed his mark only slightly, the arrow lodging itself next to the brown warrior's heart. It didn't bother to snap it off, instead drawing back its throwing arm to try again. Then two spears appeared in its back and the brown fell dead.

Celltic was almost out of arrows now. A spear hurtled out of nowhere as he nocked one to his string and came so close to him that his face grazed the leather grip on the shaft. Celltic recoiled in horror and began to retreat, strafing right to get out of the line of fire. Browns were killing every target of opportunity they could get; he couldn't really blame him, but why could they preoccupy themselves with the...

Suddenly Nemvber appeared again, shouldering two enemy spears and hurling another one into the community longhut. It went through the wall with almost no resistance and a piercing wail followed soon after. Still Nemvber continued to move, throwing another spear into the hut before snatching up a second bundle of five more spears. Browns converged on him, flint throwing axes and spiked clubs in their hands. No, they were going to kill him!

_Twang, twang, twang!_ The long bow fired three times before Celltic could no longer risk shooting. Nemvber was everywhere, a ripping, tearing, howling fury out of hell. Three browns fell, two with spears protruding from their chests, another with a spear through its face. The budling ignored two more browns who came after him from behind, their throwing axes raised and clubs at the ready to finish Nemvber off should he survive. _Twang, twang._ Celltic fired again, putting an arrow through one brown's temple and out the other side of its head. The other arrow was fired in haste and missed the second brown, instead disappearing into the dried yellow grasses of the communal longhut. The brown's throwing axe flew through the air at the back of Nemvber's head.

Then Nemvber disappeared, turning the corner of the dry longhut. The axe flew harmlessly by and Celltic fired again. This time the brown went down, but only to its hands and knees. A third arrow through its shoulder put it down permanently.

Celltic saw Gamd again. The large green had picked up the spiked club of a brown warrior and was beating the brains out of its former owner. Suddenly, a badly wounded brown appeared behind Gamd with a spear. Just before it could bring down its single spear into Gamd's back, Celltic put an arrow in its heart. The brown toppled over backwards and Gamd went on beating with his new club, unaware of his mortal danger.

The browns, what few that were left, had been driven away from the prison pit and towards the big grass longhut. Celltic still had four arrows left, so he decided to move around to the side of the longhut and get a better shot. Nocking one of his arrows onto his bow string, the young warrior ran off at a tangent. A group of three injured browns came into view, two of them budlings and the other a leafling. The leafling saw Celltic, gave a bloodcurdling howl, and charged forward with a single throwing spear. Celltic did not give pause, putting an arrow dead center in its heart before it got four steps.

As Celltic nocked another arrow to his string, one of the two budlings hopped forward two steps and hurled a spear at him. Caught off guard and cursing himself for it, Celltic scrambled to his left and only narrowly avoided the wooden shaft. There was a ripping sound as it passed through his cloak. Then he lost his sense of balance and landed in a puddle of stagnating rainwater.

Blowing mud and spit from his face pores, Celltic pulled himself to his feet. His jungle cloak spilled off his shoulders into the puddle. Somehow, the young pikmin had managed to save his bow and the arrow he had nocked to its string, but the other two arrows had spilled out of his quiver.

"Diee, greeeen!" roared the foremost of the two charging browns. Celltic struggled backwards, sighting his arrow on the brown's chest. Then the second brown pikmin hurled a spear, with deadly precision. The weapon came too fast, far too fast; Celltic couldn't even dodge.

_Twang!_ Miraculously, the spear did not even touch Celltic, but somehow managed to cut his bowstring just as he released his arrow. The arrow flipped through the air and easily missed the foremost brown. Both halves of the bowstring lashed Celltic's arms and face.

"Aargghh!" yelled Celltic, moving forward ten or so steps and trying to find the first spear. Even a club, a throwing axe, would have suited him at that moment. But still the two brown pikmin came on, the first about twenty steps ahead of the second. The big pikmin closed the distance slowly, and Celltic realized that he was simply waiting for it to come to him.

"Raagh!!" the creature howled, throwing itself at Celltic. The green pikmin backpedaled, tried to move out of the way, but the long and thickly muscled arm of the other pikmin caught him around the midsection. Both green and brown plowed into the mud, all the breath leaving Celltic the moment he hit the ground. His face ended up in a water puddle that seemed occupied with a jungleweave cloak. His cloak.

The brown pikmin was grappling with Celltic now. The green pikmin tried vainly to escape, twisting and writhing and hitting. He managed to get to his knees for a split second, struck the brown in the face with his bud, and dove under its upraised right arm. But the effort was no good; the upraised arm came down and trapped Celltic against the brown's bloodied side. Still he struggled, clawing madly at the muddy ground in front of him until the arm around his waist was around his legs. Something met his fingertips; an arrow. One of his arrows.

When Celltic's fingertips found the arrow, he immediately thrust his hand into the mud puddle and gripped it tightly. He paused for only a split second to find the other arrow, and found that it was about a foot away from the first.

Then the brown had Celltic around the chest with an arm like an iron band and was throwing him to the ground with tremendous force. The green had no breath left in his lungs after he hit, and then the brown was on top of him again, smothering him, crushing him. He struggled and rolled, gripping the arrow. Then he found the brown's unprotected side and jammed the arrowhead into the rough, barklike skin. The enemy howled and sat up, the arrowshaft embedded about two inches into its flabby right side.

Still pinned by the brown pikmin's legs and immense bulk, Celltic fumbled for the second arrow. He found it, just as the brown lunged forward to strangle him, and jammed it into the brute's chest. The brown recoiled and rolled away with a shove from Celltic, who scrambled to his feet with much effort. The brown collapsed to its side and gurgled; the first arrow was driven deep into its side when it fell over, and the second arrow protruded from its heart.

"Murderer!" howled the second brown. Celltic realized too late that the huge min had come up on him while he was struggling with the first brown. This second one was enraged, and armed with a second spear, a virtual killing machine with tiny bloodshot eyes and massive bulging muscles. It bounded forward and thrust the spear at his chest, but Celltic danced aside and searched for something with even a minor resemblence to a weapon. The thought occured to him to find his unstrung bow and use it as a club, but when the brown thrust the spear at him again he rejected the idea.

"Standh stihl!" screamed the big pikmin. Celltic danced away for a third time, backpedaling this time. Then the brown jumped forward as if to swing the spear like a club, and Celltic tripped.

Completely exhausted, Celltic stumbled backwards, arms windmilling. He managed to right himself, but as he did so the brown swung the spear and shattered it against the side of his head. Stars exploded before his eyes and he stumbled a way, spinning crazily before toppling to the mud on his back. Something split his sinewbelt.

Kolltic's knife.

Finally he remembered it. Celltic found the flint weapon at his side, having cut his stringy belt. Then the brown was on top of him, putting a massive muddy foot on his chest and crushing. Wheezing, Celltic gripped the knife and dug it into the enemy's calf, dragging it across the flabby leg with the desperation born of one being slowly suffocated. The brown howled and jumped back. Celltic took the opportunity to surge to his feet and slam the heels of both hands into the overbalanced and surprised pikmin.

Celltic at first thought his powerful attack would knock the brown pikmin on its back. But its immense bulk saved it, and it managed to swing a fist at Celltic's face. The green avoided the attack but now found himself overbalanced. He jumped back, landed in a puddle, and then lunged forward in a burst of desperation with Kolltic's knife.

Then the brown had Celltic by the arm, his right arm, and was twisted him to one side. The massive pikmin gripped the smaller pikmin's arm against its chest with both of its arm and gave an expert wrench. Something popped, Celltic's arm seemed to extend several inches, and an explosion of brain turned his vision black. Kolltic's knife was removed from the nerveless fingers of his hand and a heavy, long-stemmed bud collided with his head.

The first thing Celltic realized a few seconds later was that he was on his back. He could barely move his right arm and it felt like hell when he did. The brown pikmin was lowering itself onto him, placing its knee over his left arm so that he couldn't move it. Then the flint knife began to descend in the brown's right arm, towards the side of Celltic's neck.

Something flashed in Celltic's periphial vision. Then something materialized behind the brown pikmin that took up most of his line of sight; a green pikmin. A tall, long-limbed and lithe green pikmin with a long flint knife in its hand, complicated and dark-blue tattoos swirling up the arm that now wrapped itself around the brown pikmin's throat. Then the tattooed green pikmin drew its arm back in one quick motion, the long flint knife nearly severing the brown pikmin's head.

Then a surprisingly strong spurt of arterial blood hit Celltic's face and the immense bulk that crushed his left arm and torso was lifted free. When he wiped the blood from his eyes, the brown pikmin had collapsed onto his legs and the mysterious tattooed green pikmin was gone. Kolltic's knife was still in the brown's right hand, but deep purple bruises adorned the wrist of that hand. Something immensely powerful had stopped the brown's final attack, held it back long enough to cut the creature's throat.

There was blood everywhere. It still spurted from the neck of the dead brown pikmin. Its stem had gone limp, its bud blood covered and limp in a puddle of rapidly redenning bog water.

Celltic struggled to his feet as fast as he could, a surge of energy that left him breathless. A flash of pain in his right arm reminded him of his injuries, and Celltic slowly dropped to his knees. He slowly pulled the knife from the dead fingers of his former enemy; the pikmin's thumb twitched slightly as he did so. Just nerves, he decided, but he remained wary.

"Ho, Celltic!"

The budling turned, and found that it was Nuesi who was calling him. The green flower pikmin had removed his very bloodsoaked jungle tunic and was literally squeezing the liquid out of it. The warrior's face paint was smeared with sweat, mud and blood.

"Nuesi," gasped Celltic, gripped his right arm at the elbow where the pain was the worst. Nuesi's expression went from one of relief and triumph to fear and shock. He hurried forward, draping his tunic over his shoulder and crouching next to the younger pikmin.

"Are you alright?"

"My arm. I think my elbow's broken."

The older warrior probed at the younger's arm, testing it here and there. Finally he shook his head, an almost amused and slightly relieved look in his eyes. "It looks like its just a dislocation. The Apocethary will fix you up real quick when we... damn, what happened to this brute?!"

Nuesi bent over the dead body, digging a hand into its neck and then searching the rest of his body for injuries. He picked up the right arm and pointed at the bruises. "Damn Celltic, did you do this?"

"No. My left arm was pinned under its knee. Couldn't move my right... arm." He flinched and gripped his arm again. "Anyway, I couldn't even knock this brute over when he was off-balance. Somebody else did this."

"Hmm. Well, I've gotta say, whoever it was really did a number on this min. Look," and here he turned the brown's head to the side; it rotated freely. "There are deep marks on the vertabrae. Did he use that knife of yours?"

Celltic let go of his arm and picked up the knife out of his lap. Save for some mud and one spot of blood that he could not identify the source of, the flint knife was clean and still razor-sharp. It had not been used at all except to wrestle over.

Nuesi whistled regardless and nodded to Celltic. "You owe somebody thanks. Who was it?"

Celltic shrugged, painfully. "I've never seen him before in my life. Tattooed, muscles like knotted boulders, but tall and built thin. He had a really long flint knife, but it was a really dark flint. Like the kind you would find around Southwatch..."

Suddenly an image of mythical proportions appeared in Celltic's mind's eye: the legendary and much imagined form of his hero, Samovar the Great, first and last Green Emperor. A warlord, with his great and powerful steel sword in one hand and his ornate golden scepter in the other, an iron crown set around the base of his stem. The pikmin that had killed his assailant looked exactly like the image that Celltic had created in his mind, the only difference being the absence of powerful artifacts and the addition of the strange and extremely complicated, dark tattoos. It had to have been Samovar.

Except, of course, for the fact Samovar had been dead for nearly one thousand years.

--

**Alright, lots of fighting going on! Love fighting, it's fun to write and even more fun to avoid in real life! Because last time I fought somebody I busted my hand open and that sucked. Of course, Celltic got his arm dislocated at the elbow! Ha ha. Inexperienced n00b.**

**Please Read and Review. As in, R&R. End of Spring Break... NOOOOOOO, WHY??? WHY??!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!1**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Pikmin.**


	5. Vengeance

**A short chapter, intended to wrap up the current story arc and begin another. It accomplishes neither task completely, but regardless, the story now takes another direction...**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pikmin.**

--

In the aftermath of battle, the brown village sat silent, gutted and burning. Bodies lay heaped and strewn, as the green pikmin stood victorious. The warriors looked around themselves and checked their friends, their comrades, and suddenly a great cheer rose from among them... for they, the greens, had triumphed. Never mind their dead friends, their lost brethren. A hefty price had been extracted in blood for the destruction of Nethet, and for the family lost there, but it had been well worth it. The min roared to the sky, taking trophies from the bodies of the browns, and tokens from their own dead to remember them by.

Gamd stood alone near the prison pit, watching as the greens surged through the village, pillaging and destroying. This had been a great victory, but one that had come at maybe too high a price.

He turned to the bloodied corpse of Tomav on the ground, still clutching the twisted and dulled bronze sword, the brown spear driven through his stomach, the killing club still in the mud beside him. The body of the young brown pikmin that had slain him, dead but clutching the fatal wound in its neck that Gamd had given it.

Yes... too high a price.

After a few minutes, a few warriors here and there began to gather around Tomav to see his body. A few cried, shedding their tears onto the bloodied chest of their leader and greatest friend. They removed the spear, wiped away the blood from his face, and took his sword to carry, before placing him across his junglewood shield to bear him home.

Celltic found Gamd then, amidst the wreckage and carnage. The young pikmin was clutching his right arm, obviously in some degree of pain, and looked to have been sprayed with blood across his chest and face.

For a minute, the two green pikmin stood staring in sorrow at Tomav's dead body. Thoughts of his childmin raced through both their heads, and of his Vinya, his wife.

"This can't be happening," muttered Celltic, fighting back tears. He turned to Gamd. "How did it happen?"

"They overwhelmed him," replied Gamd. There were indeed bodies everywhere, slashed and hewn to the bone, great tears and rends in their flesh that revealed their muscle. Tomav had fought hard in his last moments of life, but in the end the one opponent that he couldn't slay was a leafling... a leafling that had beaten his brains in with a club after it had stabbed him in the stomach with its child's spear.

For a moment Celltic remained silent. Then he turned to his adoptive father-figure and mentor. "Where is Nemvber?"

Gamd shook his head and turned away. He pointed to the twin hills that backed the village, the cleft in their rock that was overgrown with twisted dark jungle and shadows.

"He went into the canyon."

--

Nemvber sprinted up through the rocky cleft as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his leg where the flint axe had clipped him. He grunted, panted, exerted himself to catch up with his quarry. The brown Chieften Kurog was not exceedingly fast, but he had gained a large head start on the lean grean pikmin that now hunted him. No matter, Nemvber would have him soon.

And he would kill him.

Cresting the rise in the canyon, now hundreds of feet above the muddy valley where the browns had made their home, Nemvber finally spotted his quarry. Kurog was well ahead of him, but stumbling and exhausted from his fear. As Nemvber closed the distance, the brown Chieften looked over his shoulder and saw him, put up a cry of despair and fear. The spear that Nemvber had put in his shoulder earlier was still embedded there, broken off now but rendering the stricken right arm almost immobile.

The path leveled out, but grew increasingly rough and rocky. Boulders were strewn here and there, slowing the brown pikmin down even more. Nemvber scrambled over them, jumping from one to another with the speed of a Prowler. He screamed aloud, selecting his last spear and putting on a final burst of extra speed.

"Face me you bastard!" the green min roared as he neared tackling distance with Kurog.

The brown Chieften skidded to a stop in the rocks, limp right arm swinging as he turned. He backpedaled into an old deadwood tree that stood less than twice his height, blackened long ago by death, and cried out for mercy.

With a howl, Nemvber planted his foot on one of the boulders and launched himself high into the air, drawing back his spear arm for one last stab. Kurog gave a scream of dismay and raised his arm in fear, but to no avail, as the flying green form of the bud pikmin came at him like death personified. "For Nemve!" the green screamed, and hit the brown with the force of retribution, driving the spear through flesh and tissue into the deadwood tree behind.

Nemvber stood panting, pressed against the slab of flesh that was Kurog, pressing his face into the monster's chest, feeling the hearbeat slow, feeling the death rattle as the brown slowly died. And then, when there was nothing, he stepped back and viewed his carcass.

For a minute Nemvber did nothing, only stand and stare, panting, clenching and unclenching his fists. This was the min that had taken his sister, he knew it. He knew it deep in his heart.

Slowly, methodically, Nemvber selected a sharp-edged rock from the ground. He turned back to the body pinned to the tree, the spear sagging beneath its weight.

Nemvber clutched the rock tightly. "For Nemve," he muttered, and then he took his vengeance.


End file.
